


There's Something There

by OddLilBird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Burn, after the war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddLilBird/pseuds/OddLilBird
Summary: Shunned by society, he suffers in silence. Hidden away in his dungeons as his pain consumes him, he sees no end to the alienation. After all, who could ever love a Death Eater?





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that as of 4/7/18, this chapter is a heavily revised version of what was originally posted. Many, many thanks to my betas, TamraPraxidike and HeartOfAspen, for all of their help. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize.

_Saturday, December 19, 1998_

 

Hermione hefted her satchel further onto her shoulder, wincing as the strap dug deeper into her flesh. Despite the pain, she could not help the smile that graced her face at the thought of the new books she had borrowed from the library, some of which Madam Pince had set aside especially for her, knowing she would take a special interest in them.

Normally, the strict librarian would refuse to allow any students take books with them on holiday for fear of either never seeing them again or apprehension at the condition they would be returned in. Hermione agreed; too many of her peers did not appreciate the knowledge each book presented, or give them the care they deserved. Thankfully, the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall had offered Hermione unfettered access to the library’s collection when she returned to Hogwarts in September to prepare for her N.E.W.T.s. As she had finished sitting for her final exam the day before, and planned to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, she had all the time in the world to find new topics to explore. Her smile grew at the thought.

 _Finally, I’ll have some peace and quiet,_ she thought blissfully, glancing at the star-filled night sky through a window as she passed. She loved Ginny, she truly did, but the youngest Weasley was enjoying far too much firewhiskey than was healthy. If she was not at the Quidditch Pitch, she was either attending a party or hosting one, which led to her relentless hounding for Hermione to join in.

Hermione recognized that the loss of Fred had hit the entire Weasley clan hard, but Ginny did not seem to be moving on like the rest of her family was trying to do. Additionally, when Hermione would decline each invitation - particularly the one to the end-of-term holiday party hosted by the Hufflepuffs, which she skipped in favor of studying for her Ancient Runes N.E.W.T. - Ginny had not taken kindly to the rejections, snapping at the elder Gryffindor for being such a swot.

Truthfully, Hermione was glad everyone had left for Hogsmeade Station several hours earlier. Now that she had no reasonable excuse to not join in on the festivities, she was more than happy to simply go about on her own terms as she decompressed after the hellacious past two weeks. Tonight, what awaited her was a warm bed - something that had been severely underused of late - and a good book. Practically giddy with anticipation, she pondered which volume to read first.

Her train of thought was broken when she felt something brush up against her legs. Looking down, she saw a small, black, and incredibly fluffy kitten gazing up at her with startlingly large eyes.

“Well, hello there.”

Hermione crouched down slowly, not wanting to startle the tiny creature. She held out her hand, allowing the kitten’s cold nose to bump against her palm as it got acquainted with her scent. Just when she had decided to try and pick the kitten up, it darted out of reach and trotted a few paces toward the direction she had just come from.

“Why, you’re a little rascal, aren’t you?”

The kitten meowed plaintively, continuing to stare at her before it trotted forward a few more paces again, looking back at her once more.

“You go on now. Maybe Mrs. Norris will want to play,” she suggested, though she suspected the feisty feline would _not_ want to cater to the kitten’s playfulness.

Turning her back on the strange cat, she paused as it called out to her again, louder this time. Sighing, Hermione turned to look at it once more, “What is it? I don’t have any food for you.”

It flicked its tail impatiently before trotting back over to her and nipping her heels.

“Oh!” Her brow furrowed as the creature’s surprisingly sharp teeth dug into the tender skin under the fabric of her robes. She waved her hand to shoo it away, but the kitten darted to the side too quickly. “What on earth was that for, you little bugger? That hurt!”

Without any warning the kitten lunged at her heels again, forcing Hermione to stumble back in the direction she came from, not wanting to give the kitten another chance to draw blood. Apparently appeased, the cat darted out in front of her, looking at her over its shoulder, almost daring her to turn her back again.

“Do you want me to follow you? Is that it?” Hermione blinked several times when she thought she saw the kitten dip its head in agreement. She could not deny that her curiosity getting the best of her. “Fine. But this better be good.”

A flick of its tail was the only response she received as it trotted off once more, seeming satisfied with itself that she was following.

The deeper the cat took her into the castle, the more Hermione’s brow furrowed. She was no longer sure of where, exactly, they were, except that it was a part of the dungeons she had never been to before. As it led her to a dead end, she could not help but feel exceptionally foolish that she had just wasted the last fifteen minutes traipsing across the castle after a cat that likely had no bloody idea where it was going. In fact, it was now staring expectantly as a stone wall. Something clearly was not right with it.

She shook her head and started to turn around when she noticed that an imposing wooden door had slowly begun to manifest itself right where the kitten had been staring. Once the door was fully revealed, the cat moved forward and began scratching at the wood frantically, calling out with pitiful cries.

Hermione shuddered when her palm met the cold, metal doorknob, knowing that this could be a huge mistake as she thought back to her first year when she, Harry, and Ron had made the acquaintance of Fluffy. She looked down at the kitten once more to find it still trying desperately to claw its way through the wood. Knowing animals had a penchant for sensing trouble or danger, she squared her shoulders and slowly pushed the door open.

The kitten raced inside at the first opportunity. Following it, Hermione quickly realized she was in someone’s personal chambers, a professor’s from the look of the expansive rooms.

Turning around for fear of getting caught trespassing, a blood-curdling scream chilled her to the bone. Dropping her satchel and gripping her wand, she raced toward the sound. Throwing open the next door she came to, she raised her wand, a hex already on her lips as she prepared for an attack.

The sight that met her was impossibly worse.

Severus Snape lay writhing in his bed, drenched in sweat and blood.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw him clawing at his neck, more blood staining the sheets and dripping down his arms as he let loose another scream of pain mixed with terror. Taking action, she grabbed the professor’s hands to prevent him from making the wound worse.

“Professor,” she called out when his cries momentarily died off, trying to remain calm and keep her wits about her. But her strength was no match for his, and when he threw her off of him,  she quickly realized she was in far over her head. “Professor Snape, I need you to wake up _now_!”

The older man’s brow furrowed and a light of hope burned in Hermione that she had got through to him. Her attempts were for naught however, when instead he thrashed harder and quickly overpowered her once more, returning to clawing at the side of his neck.

Realizing that that this was far more serious of a situation than she was equipped to deal with, she grabbed her wand and performed a quick Patronus charm. Her otter sprang forth and danced merrily as it awaited instructions.

“Go to Madam Pomfrey at once,” she instructed. “Tell her Professor Snape is in his chambers and is gravely hurt. She must hurry.”

Just as she said the last word, the otter disappeared through the walls, leaving a trail of silvery mist in its wake. Hermione set her sights back on Snape, resting a knee on the bed as she worked to gain leverage and apply pressure to the wound on his neck. His hands continued to fight against hers, but she ignored the cutting pain of his nails digging into her flesh. Biting down on her lower lip, she refusing to let loose a cry of pain.

 _You must remain calm, Hermione,_ she told herself, taking a moment to breathe deeply. _You know if you lose your composure, it will do nothing but increase his stress levels, which he certainly doesn’t need at the moment._

“Professor Snape, it’s time to wake up now. You’re hurting yourself, sir. It’s just a dream.” She did not know for how long she attempted to wake him, repeating the same words over and over, to no avail; he was too far gone in his dream. This was no typical nightmare she had ever witnessed. No, this reminded her far more of the night terrors Harry had experienced when Voldemort was at his strongest, but even those paled in comparison to what she was witnessing now.

She sighed in relief when she heard the door burst open to admit Madam Pomfrey.  The matron’s eyes were wide as she took in the scene before her.

“I-I didn’t know what to do,” Hermione exclaimed, desperate for help. “He won’t wake up. He was thrashing and screaming when I found him, clawing at the scar on his neck.”

In a single, practiced glance, the healer took in the scene and quickly moved to action.

“Keep pressure on his neck. I’m going to immobilize him and then we’ll work on closing the wound and replenishing his blood supply. I daresay he’s lost nearly a liter of blood already, supposing none of this is yours?” Hermione shook her head. “Very well.”

Hermione watched as Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand sharply, Snape’s body freezing mid-spasm. Her eyes widened when she continued to feel blood seep through her fingers, silently begging the healer to hurry. Even with a Blood-Replenishing potion, losing this much blood was not a good sign.

“Now, on the count of three, you’re going to remove your hands.” Hermione nodded mutely, watching as Madam Pomfrey took a clear vial from her nightdress pocket and pulled the cork out with her teeth. “One. Two. Three.”

The young witch hurriedly got out of the healer’s way, knowing that every second counted in healing, no matter how simple the task. As the matron poured the contents of the vial onto Snape’s neck, soft green smoke billowed upward as his skin knitted itself together, and Hermione recognized the curious healing process of Essence of Dittany.

“The wound is sealed for now,” Madam Pomfrey stated. “But he’s still in the middle of the night terror. I’m going to release him from _Immobulus._ He’ll likely try to fight us again, but I need you to lift his head with one hand and pinch his nose with the other. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.” Hermione moved to the other side of the bed, reaching one hand beneath his head to cup his neck and positioning the other above his nose. Madam Pomfrey popped open two more vials and spit out the corks, not caring where they landed.

“Good. On three again. I’m going to pour the Calming Draught and Blood Replenishing potion down his throat. The effects of the draught should be nearly instantaneous, and then I’ll be able to address the wound more carefully.” The healer’s authoritative and controlled voice helped calm and center Hermione’s racing thoughts.

As expected, the moment he was released from the immobilizing charm, Snape’s body began thrashing once more, working against them. With Hermione’s fingers pinching off the airflow to his nose, he opened his mouth to breathe, which allowed Madam Pomfrey the opportunity to pour both potions into his mouth.

Hermione watched his throat, noting the exact moment he swallowed, and mentally counted to ten in her head. Though she knew this was approximately how long it should take for the draught to take effect, nothing happened.

She looked up at Madam Pomfrey in confusion. “Why isn’t it working?”

Madam Pomfrey cursed a wild streak before pulling another vial of the draught out, ignoring Hermione’s question. “Damn fool of a man,” she said to herself. “You’re going to kill yourself.” After Snape swallowed the second dosage, Hermione counted to ten once more. When the potion took affect this time, she could feel her tense shoulders finally relaxing. She had thought Harry’s nightmares were bad, but this? This was far, far worse.

Gently resting his head back against his pillows, Hermione noted that despite his calm outward appearance, his jaw was still clenched and his brow furrowed.

“I’ll fetch some flannels to clean up the blood.” She looked down at her own hands and realized she needed to clean herself up as well.

“First door on the left,” Madam Pomfrey intoned, directing her to the lavatory. She had already moved on to inspecting Snape’s injury with a closer eye.

Hermione took a few moments to clean up in the water basin, taking care not to make a mess; Professor Snape had always been particular about the conditions of his pristine classroom. While most students were under the impression that he was just being a git for taking points off, Hermione recognized it was actually a safety precaution. With all the classes he taught back-to-back, each at a different difficulty level, it was a given that a number of various ingredients would be used. If the wrong two ingredients were combined because of one careless student’s mistake, the results could be catastrophic.

Freshly cleaned, and with her arms full of damp flannels, she re-entered the professor’s bed chambers to find Madam Pomfrey still kneeling on the ground, evaluating the wound.

“This has happened before, hasn’t it?” Hermione set the towels on the nightstand, taking one in hand before turning back to the bed. The matron shot her a sharp look. “You knew what was wrong right away. You had the Dittany, Blood Replenishing potion, and Calming Draught at the ready.”

Without providing an answer, Madam Pomfrey stood and moved to the foot of the bed, lifting her wand to perform a diagnostic spell. Hermione watched in fascination as several scripts glittered in the air, stemming from various parts of the professor’s body.

Noting the young witch’s curiosity, Madam Pomfrey quickly transferred the results to a spare bit of parchment on Snape’s desk for later perusal. Huffing in frustration, Hermione set to work on cleaning the blood from his neck. Ever so carefully, she brushed away strands of hair that had got caught in the coagulating blood and patted the flannel gently against his raw skin, not wanting to aggravate it further.

As she worked, a pit formed in her stomach. Several sets of puncture wounds and a particularly nasty gash where Nagini had bitten off a chunk of his flesh appeared. Despite knowing that the wounds were several months old, she might have guessed they were new.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out as she was transported back to that dreadful night. The metallic scent of his blood filling the air, his cries of pain intermixed with the creaking floorboards…

Breaking into a cold sweat, she closed her eyes and forced herself back into the present moment, pausing her cleaning for a moment as she waited for her hand to stop shaking. _He’s safe. I’m safe. He’s safe. I’m safe,_ she chanted internally, forcing herself to believe it. Opening her eyes, she focused on his face. The muscles were still tense, his jaw still clenched, but his nostrils were flaring steadily. _He’s breathing, he’s safe,_ she continued her litany as she set back to work, moving the soiled sheet from his bare torso. The crimson blood spatters stood in a frighteningly stark contrast against his overly pale skin, making her feel slightly nauseous.

Under the guise of returning to the loo to grab more flannels, Hermione slowly slid to the floor, her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around her knees as she took several shaking breaths. She only allowed herself a few moments before she forced herself to stand back up, but had to brace the wall for support when her legs proved unstable.. After giving herself one more moment to fortify her will, she hastily grabbed a few more flannels so as not to raise suspicion and returned to Snape’s bedside.

Almost mechanically, she continued cleaning his body, washing away the blood before patting the area dry. She lifted his hands and ran the flannel over each digit and across his forearms, making sure not a speck remained.

When she had finished, she looked up at the other witch. Madam Pomfrey was studying the bit of parchment with Snape’s diagnostic results.

“What was that? That happened to him?”

Madam Pomfrey lifted her gaze, not saying a word.

“Well?” Hermione demanded, frustration welling inside her once more. She felt helpless, but most of all, confused. _This should not have happened. Why is this happening? He was supposed to get a second chance..._

“You know I am not allowed to disclose information regarding my patients, Miss Granger. I’m sure you understand that the same respects you are given apply to others as well.”

“You and I both know it’s not that simple.” Hermione retorted sharply. Her confusion and worry about what she had just witnessed had made her filter defective. “I have every right to know!”

The healer paused, but did not look at Hermione. “Professor Snape is in no danger of dying in his present state.”

Hermione, huffed, growing increasingly more frustrated with the lack of information she was being given.

“I think the more pressing question, Miss Granger, is what you were doing down here on this night, so far from your rooms...” Madam Pomfrey folded the parchment with the diagnosis and placed it in her pocket, taking a spare towel and cleaning off her own hands as she eyed Hermione.

“I was on my way back to my rooms when…” she looked around, realizing she had not seen the black kitten since entering Snape’s chambers. Her eyes finally settled on the tiny creature, which had jumped onto the dresser and was practically glowering in Madam Pomfrey’s direction. Madam Pomfrey followed her line of sight. “That kitten led me down this hallway, and then the door appeared. I heard the professor scream and when I couldn’t wake him, I summoned for you.”

Madam Pomfrey eyed her with her signature glare that made many a first year hesitant to return to the Hospital Wing with a fake illness.

“I know how it sounds, Madam Pomfrey, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“That is neither here nor there. You may leave now. Professor Snape is under my care.”

“No!” Hermione protested quickly, and a bit too loudly. She winced as the healer eyed her with a raised brow.

“Oh?”

“I mean,” Hermione blushed, flustered at her outburst, “I want to stay. To help.” When Madam Pomfrey did not appear moved by her pleas, she added, “Please, I deserve that much. You and I both know that I have far more invested in this than anyone else. Perhaps even yourself.”

“Very well,” the healer conceded after a moment. “You may watch over him while I inform the Headmistress of his incapacities and return with further supplies. He won’t awake, the potion should last-”

“-For up to six to seven hours, yes,” Hermione finished for her, recalling the specifics of the potion with ease. _But how long_ , she wondered, her inquisitiveness unable to stay quiet for long, _would a double dose take effect for?_ _And what about adverse side effects?_ She kept her questions to herself, knowing she was already pushing her luck, and Madam Pomfrey’s patience. Madam Pomfrey nodded succinctly, mollified at least, that the chit would not further deteriorate his condition, and turned from the room.

The kitten, which had remained alert and tense on the dresser, now visibly relaxed upon the healer’s departure; it lithely jumped down from its perch and brushed up against Hermione, winding itself in and out of her legs.

“Not particularly a fan of Madam Pomfrey, are you?” Hermione kept her voice quiet and was careful not to step on its tail as she moved closer to the bed. “I must say, she and I aren’t on the best of terms right now either.”

Wondering just how much the healer was keeping from her regarding Snape’s condition, she sighed. Perhaps she should have known to expect this.

Glancing back to the prone form of her professor, her heart lurched for this man who had sacrificed everything in his life to make amends with one woman through her son. He had pushed everyone, everything, away. She closed her eyes in sorrow before steeling herself and throwing her hair into a messy bun, squaring her shoulders and setting to work.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that as of 4/10/18, this chapter is a heavily revised version of what was originally posted. Many, many thanks to my betas, TamraPraxidike and HeartOfAspen, for all of their help. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize.

_Saturday, December 19, 1998_

 

Locating the linen closet took less than a moment’s time, but Hermione frowned as the rough fabric of the clean sheets abraded her skin. She could not help wondering how Snape could sleep on these each night and if there were softer sheets hiding somewhere she had not looked before she dismissed the idea; if he had softer sheets elsewhere, there was no reason for him to be using these.

“To each their own,” she muttered to herself, placing the linens off to the side for a moment.

Gripping her wand, she cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ with a steady hand _,_ not wanting to further irritate any of his injuries, but knowing that sleeping on soiled sheets would do him no good either. Levitating Snape a few feet above the bed gave Hermione the necessary space to make quick work of his bloodstained sheets. Throwing them into a corner with little care, she hurried to remake the bed, not wanting the professor to be levitating for any longer than necessary.

When she finished, she lowered him gently back to the bed, taking her time resituating him under the lone sheet and trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Hermione blushed when she finally took note of the fact that her previous professor was, in fact, shirtless.

While she was not unfamiliar with the sight of a bare-chested man, seeing Professor Snape in that… compromising situation was quite a different experience. Her eyes were drawn to the smattering of various scars that she assumed covered the majority of his body. Without thinking, she gently traced a prominent mark on his collarbone, shivering at the chill of his skin.  Abruptly realizing her misstep, she pulled her hand back, thankful that there had not been anyone to witness.

Now that she was no longer moving around the chambers, coupled with her decreasing adrenaline levels, Hermione noticed an undeniable chill in the air; the hair on her arms stood on end and she shivered. Pulling her robes tighter around her body, she wondered how on earth Snape could sleep comfortably in this environment. Glancing to the fireplace, she ignited the wood with a flick of her wand and sighed in relief as a flood of warmth instantly filled the room.

“Still, these chambers are so cold, and his sheets are practically threadbare.” Hermione looked down at the kitten who was staring up at her from its position next to her feet. “Do you think…?” She bit her lip and the kitten blinked slowly. “You’re exactly right,” Hermione nodded. “There’s no way he can hope to make a quick recovery if he’s battling the flu. It’ll be our little secret, yes?” The kitten meowed in response, and she smiled as she moved closer to the side of the bed.

Placing one hand on the edge of the sheet, she closed her eyes and envisioned the warmest winter blanket she could think of: a thick, down comforter with the softest fleece imaginable on the underside.

 _Perhaps a dark green,_ she mused, realizing that, despite having been previously unable to take in his quarters in light of the situation, upon a cursory glance she had yet to see any of his House’s colors present. _Everything with this man must be monochromatic_.

Hermione rolled her eyes before concentrating once more on the blanket, flicking her wand when she deemed herself ready. Opening her eyes, she nodded, satisfied with her work.

“There, that ought to warm you right up, professor.” Hermione looked down at the kitten, who was still sitting by her side. “We did good, yes?” In response, the kitten jumped onto the bed and curled up into a tight ball by the its master’s feet. “Yes, I think so too.”

Madam Pomfrey had yet to return from her errands, but Hermione found herself loathe to leave the Potions Master alone in his weakened state. Deciding that she should stay until he was under the care of a proper healer, she pulled his ratty, old armchair closer to the warmth of the fire.

It took a few moments to get comfortable as the armchair was dreadfully under-stuffed and threadbare, but she eventually managed well enough. _Honestly, why doesn’t he just replace this? It would serve a much better purpose as kindling._

Despite how hard she fought to stay awake, the stresses – not only of the past few hours, but of the weeks leading up to her N.E.W.T.s as well – were swiftly catching up to her, and she soon dozed off into a peaceful slumber.

 ~*~

 _The nerve of that woman!_ Poppy Pomfrey was furious as she stormed out of the headmistress’ office. _Thank heavens he won’t have classes to teach. She just expected him to continue as he was, as if nothing had happened tonight! I should like to see Minerva attempt to do the same. First Miss Granger, and now this?_

Poppy shook her head. The events of the evening would certainly need to be considered further. She still had a hard time believing that after everything Severus had sacrificed for the Order, its members continued to be mistrustful of him. Never once had he steered them wrong, despite appearances. He had nearly given his life for the cause, for Circe’s sake!

But no, none of it had meant anything to any of them. Poppy could still remember with striking clarity the day the Wizengamot had tried, and thankfully failed, to sentence Severus to life in Azkaban for killing Albus – despite the fact that he had taken Veritaserum, provided untampered memories of Dumbledore ordering him to do just that, and issued a testimony Dumbledore had written prior to his own death. Even with all of that, they had still wished to convict him.

Cursing under her breath when her vision became blurry, she wiped at her tears of sorrow and frustration before they could fall.

“Severus,” she reminded herself, “focus on Severus.”

~*~ 

Severus let out a low groan as he began to come back to his senses.

“I’m glad to see you’re back with us, Severus.”

He tensed, disorientated and unsure of where he was. His muscles contracted, preparing to attack or defend, not knowing if he was with friend or foe. Hell, even if he knew who it was, he still would not likely have known if he were in danger or not, having made enemies on both sides.

Severus forced himself to breathe and took stock of his injuries quickly before he opened his eyes. He held back a wince as he turned his head slightly to the left, where the voice had originated from, blinking rapidly until the figure of Poppy Pomfrey came into view. Upon seeing it was her, he let his body relax ever so slightly, his muscles protesting once more.

“Leave,” he demanded in a whisper, his raw throat objecting even that.

“I should think not, Severus,” the healer refused. “Last night was one of the worst I’ve seen. It took twice the normal dose of Calming Draught to ease the terrors. You’ve been taking it far too often again.” Her voice turned sharper. “ _And_ , it seems, you’re being far from truthful during your medicals. Your body can’t take the physical pain, but nor can it keep up with all of the potions you’re self-medicating with.”

Looking back up at the ceiling, Severus closed his eyes, drowning Madam Pomfrey out as he took a more in-depth inventory of his injuries. He had heard this lecture more times than he wished to count. She stopped mid-lecture, and he heard the matron huff when she realized he was no longer attending to her.

“Very well, don’t listen. But whether you’re here or in the Hospital Wing, you _will_ receive the care you need.”

His eyes flew open and he snapped his head back in her direction, instantly regretting the action as he was flooded with a sharp pain. He forced himself to breathe through the agony.

“How did you get into my chambers?” Her gross invasion of his privacy only furthered his ire.

Madam Pomfrey did not answer, only smiled knowingly, not quite ready to reveal her hand.

“While I was here, I took the liberty of confiscating your stash of Calming and Dreamless Sleep Draughts.” She could see the fury burning in his eyes at her admission. “Really, Severus, you must come up with better hiding places. I’ve been playing this game for far longer than you. Make it interesting. Give me a challenge.”

Trying to sit up, Severus silently coaxed his muscles to do what he wanted them to, what they were _supposed_ to do. The healer _tsk_ ’ed, knowing he would not be going anywhere any time soon.

“You know, if you would apply your salves as you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t be in half this mess.” She retucked the comforter across his body before grabbing a goblet from the nightstand and bringing it to his lips, commanding, “Drink.”

He stared her down, refusing.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Severus, it’s only water… and I know your throat is burning something fierce. Drink.” She tipped the glass up slightly, but he still would not cooperate. Madam Pomfrey muttered something about insufferable men under her breath before bringing the goblet to her own lips and drinking. “As if I would go through all this work to make you better and then poison you.”

Severus did not know why she was being so flippant; he knew several people who would do that very thing.

Pressing the goblet back against his lips, Severus opened them slightly, allowing enough in to soothe his burning throat before he turned his head against the goblet, refusing any more.

“Leave.”

He closed his eyes and tried to turn over onto his side, giving her his back. He expected the flare of pain that shot through each nerve ending, but refused to show any weakness by vocalizing it.

“Fine, you stubborn fool of a man. I’ll leave you in peace. For now.” The matron smiled, knowing he could not see it. Perhaps that was for the best, otherwise he would automatically have become suspicious. She tried imagining his reaction once he noticed Miss Granger’s presence.

Soon, he could hear the sound of the matron’s retreating footfalls against the stone floor, followed by the closing of the door behind her. His jaw clenched and sweat beaded on his forehead at the simple maneuver.

Ever so slowly, the pain began to recede and he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to register the bushy haired, know-it-all Gryffindor asleep in his armchair with the overly fluffy furball curled up in her lap. They were both sound asleep.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Please note that as of 5/24/18, this chapter is a heavily revised version of what was originally posted. Many, many thanks to my betas, TamraPraxidike and HeartOfAspen, for all of their help.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.

_Saturday, December 19, 1998_

Severus was furious. Not only had the privacy of his chambers been violated once, but twice - and Poppy _knew._ She knew the Granger girl was still there and not only did she not warn him, but she did not take the girl with her either.

His private chambers were the only thing he had, the only thing that was truly his, and they had defiled them. He seethed. If Poppy had found his stash of potions, who knew what else she had found, rifled through, or even taken? He had thought it would be safe to simply ward the chambers themselves...

He froze when he thought of his wards; the question of _how_ exactly they got in haunted him.

Were his wards not sufficient? Was there a weak spot? An entrance he had not considered? Severus could feel his heart thundering in his chest. If they could get in, others could as well. Others with more malicious intentions. While he was far too weak to use wandless magic, he knew he should still be able to feel the threads of his magic in the wards... if they were still in place, that is.

Closing his eyes, Severus concentrated on the aura, the feel of his magic. Mentally visualizing the layout of his chambers, he searched along the walls looking for discrepancies. He took his time, not wanting to overlook even the tiniest detail. This was far too important for him to botch.

He labored on his task for over an hour and by the end, sweat drenched his forehead from the mental exertion. He had found… nothing. Instead of putting him at ease, it increased his worries exponentially because it meant she had found a way around them, a way he had not thought of.

_Blasted girl._

Of course everyone called her the brightest witch of her age, but surely even she could not outsmart _him_. He had spent decades perfecting his techniques and wards; it was paramount to his safety.

He turned his gaze back to the armchair. _What had she found?_

As if it could feel his attention on them, the furball lifted its head and blinked drowsily. Its eyes connected with his and it stood, stretching languorously, and waking Granger in the process of jumping to his bed.

When their eyes connected, he could see the exact moment when the events of mere hours ago filtered back into place in her memory.

“Sir! Are you feeling well?” Hermione jumped up from the chair and came to his side. Her brows furrowed when she noticed the sweat on his forehead. “Can I get you anything?”

“You can tell me how the bloody hell you broke into my chambers,” he demanded, his gaze hardening to a thunderous glare as he struggled to lift himself into a seated position. The blankets slipped down, revealing his bare chest once more.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she placed a restraining hand on his shoulder to prevent him sitting up any further.

“Remove your hand from my person this instant, Miss Granger!”

“Please, professor, you’re not well,” she tried to reason, holding firm. “You need to relax. If you’d just lay still, I can try to explain.”

Looking stricken, Hermione turned her eyes away from him, but paused to resituate the blanket across his chest and tuck him in once more. “I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, exactly. Your cat led me here and then the door… well, it just appeared. When I realized you… what was happening, I summoned Madam Pomfrey straight away.”

“Leave. Now.” When Hermione did not respond right away, he gathered what limited strength he had left to bellow, “I said _leave!_ ”

She quickly scurried from the room. Once the door had shut behind her and Severus was assured she had left, he let a tear of pain slip from his eye. He should not have shouted, it had cost him too much, especially after using most of his strength to check the wards. But he could not allow himself to appear weak in front of her, in front of anyone. He _would not._

A soft meow pulled him from his thoughts as the kitten reminded him of of its presence. It had been just over a month ago now that he had found the animal, half-dead in a bag by a barrel filled with water. Someone had obviously lost the nerve to kill the creature and instead left it to die.

To this day, Severus still did not know what had come over him, but as he picked up the animal - more fur than anything else - he could not help but be reminded of when the Dark Lord had left him for dead and an unknown person had saved him. He remembered nothing prior to waking up in the Hospital Wing, but Severus suspected Poppy knew, though she refused to disclose the information regardless of how often he asked.

Gathering the creature into his arms, he and covered it with his robes, trying to protect it from the cold winter night. He could still recall the feeling of the cat’s rough tongue licking his finger, almost in thanks.

“And for some reason, you still haven’t left,” he considered, before souring, “but don’t think I didn’t notice you hadn’t clawed her to bits. Everyone else you hate but her? Why?”

Instead of answering - not that Severus had expected one - the cat lifted a paw and proceeded to groom itself, as if its master’s concerns were far too trivial for it to be bothered with.

Scowling and narrowing his eyes in frustration, he dropped the topic knowing he could not waste any more time. “Bring me my wand, would you? I need to strengthen the wards.”

The cat hesitated, something it had never done before, before it made its way over to his desk and retrieved his wand, letting it fall unceremoniously from its jaw into Severus’ hand.

Nodding his thanks, he steeled himself. Based on Granger’s story, he knew exactly what had happened and it was not going to be an easy thing to correct, especially in his condition. It would likely take strength that he did not have out of him, but regardless, it needed to be done.

 

~*~

 

_Monday, December 21_

 

Hermione stared blankly at the newspaper clipping Ron had sent with his most recent letter and rolled her eyes, tossing the paper onto her bedside table and not bothering to look at the caption or story; it was the same as it always was.

After the war, Kingsley had been appointed Minister for Magic, and had offered Harry and Ron the opportunity to enter Auror training immediately. The understanding was, that as they were forgoing their N.E.W.T. exams, their training period would be extended double the typical six months to ensure “quality training.” She could recall the front-page headline of the _Daily Prophet_ as clear as day once her friends had made their decision: “Potter and Weasley Continue to Keep Us Safe.”

Hermione had struggled to keep her comments to herself when she first read it, pasting on a fake smile as they both waved the paper excitedly in front of her face. _Yes, you’re keeping us incredibly safe by posing for all these publicity stunts… and ‘quality training’ my arse. They just want to keep you around for this dog-and-pony show for as long as possible._

Despite popular belief, all was not well in the Wizarding world just because Voldemort had been defeated. Hermione suspected the Ministry not only recognized this, but also that they had been less-than-innocent in the events leading up to Voldemort’s return. Therefore, in a series of grand publicity stunts, they had required the Golden Trio to keep the public morale in an upswing through regular appearances at various events.

A Ministry position had also been set aside with Hermione’s name on it, but she had refused point-blank, to accept. Harry and Ron had never been what one would consider to be book-smart or school-orientated, Hermione knew; the many years she had spent editing their essays and guiding them through their schoolwork attested to that. For Hermione however, seeing out the duration of her education was of the utmost importance.

Looking back down at the letter, Hermione knew Ron would be expecting a reply wherein she fawned over his accomplishments, but she simply did not have it in her tonight. Along with anxiously awaiting her N.E.W.T. marks, she had also been losing sleep over what she had witnessed in Professor Snape’s quarters two nights prior.

The day after she had left him, Hermione returned to the dungeons with renewed vigor, intent on apologizing to the professor and ensuring he was on the mend. As soon as she reached the landing to the dead-end however, she knew that was not going to be possible. She could feel his magic in the air, creating an invisible barrier five feet outward from where she knew the door to be. The first time she attempted passing through the barrier, and each subsequent time after that, she was treated to a shock that passed through every nerve of her body. Despite that, she continued to try gaining access until it felt like her entire body was in a constant tingling state, and her nerves were protesting the consistent abuse.

Her second effort found her searching the castle endlessly, top to bottom, in hopes that she would find the fluffy kitten that had led her to his chambers in the first place. Those efforts also proved fruitless. Still, Hermione could not find it in herself to be ashamed or embarrassed by the fact that her knees were bruised from crawling across stone floors, looking in all of the nooks and crannies which a kitten might be attracted to.

After her first two attempts resulted in failure, Hermione turned to the one place that had yet to let her down: the library. She scoured every potential resource for any scrap of information, yet all she had to show for it was the confirmation that this was not your average magic taught at Hogwarts.

Setting aside yet another unhelpful tome, Hermione groaned, growing increasingly frustrated. The only thing she had successfully found, instead of answers, were more questions. She even attempted to research what she had witnessed three nights ago, but there was a disappointing lack of healing or medical volumes available for perusal.

A throbbing pain was perlocating in her temple, which prompted Hermione to decide that perhaps the best thing to do now would be to clear her head. Glancing hopefully out the library window to see if it was nice enough for a walk, she slumped back into her seat again when she observed snow quickly blanketing the ground, resigning herself to a stroll within the castle walls. Standing from her desk, the one she had claimed upon her very first visit into the library, she began returning the books she had looked through back to their proper shelves.

She set off with no particular destination in mind, and focused on the even cadence of her breathing, pushing any other thoughts or concerns to the back of her mind to be dealt with later. Almost immediately, she could feel the difference in her body and mind, muscles she had not even realized were tense relaxing, while the throbbing in her temple settled to a dull ache.

Hermione became so lost to the world around her that she did not hear approaching footsteps on the stone floors. She nearly collided with an unsuspecting victim.

“I’m so sor-Oh, Madam Pomfrey.” Her voice cooled as she found she was still quite upset with the elder witch and her deception.

“Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey nodded cordially. “I wondered when I’d be seeing you again, although I admit I hadn’t thought like this.” She paused, thinking carefully while evaluating Hermione with a critical eye. “There are things we should discuss.”

“Oh? So now you’d like to talk? What’s changed?” Hermione did not even attempt to hide the venom in her voice.

“I’ll not beg for your forgiveness nor apologize, Miss Granger. I went against our agreement because I thought it was for the best at that time. Now however, a great deal has changed. It has come to my attention that you are not the only one information has been kept from; I admit Severus has succeeded in deceiving me. I hadn’t realized his condition had progressed to these lengths. As such, I will ask that you join me for what I hope to be an enlightening conversation in my office.”

“You’ll tell me what’s going on with Professor Snape?”

“As much as I can without breaking patient confidentiality, yes.”

Hermione thought about it for only a moment before nodding in agreement, knowing that there was no way she would pass up a chance to satisfy her curiosity.

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that as of 6/23/28, this chapter is a heavily revised version of what was originally posted. Much love to my betas, TamraPraxidike and HeartOfAspen, who are absolutely amazing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.  

_Monday, December 21_

 

Hermione sat in the armchair Madam Pomfrey gestured to and gazed at her surroundings with unabashed curiosity. While she had certainly spent plenty of time in the Hospital Wing previously and was much acquainted with its arrangement, this was her first time in the matron’s personal office.

She had never seen the matron’s inner offices, but had to admit, Madam Pomfrey’s rooms were undeniably cozy. The soft lighting, which was a happy medium between dim and bright, provided a peaceful ambience, allowing any occupants to settle into a more relaxed state of mind. As Hermione continued to take in her surroundings, her gaze was naturally drawn to the bookshelves lining the walls. Her fingers practically twitched in eager anticipation of taking in the knowledge the volumes would no doubt impart, but she forced herself to remain seated.

Pulling herself back into the present, she could practically feel the healer’s eyes on her, undoubtedly assessing her. Despite her continued mixed feelings regarding the witch, Hermione hoped she had passed whatever silent test was being conducted.

“Hogwarts has seen many students pass through its doors, as have I,” Madam Pomfrey stated unceremoniously, once she felt that she had Granger’s undivided attention. “Many of them flourish here before moving on to lead wondrous lives. There are, however, instances where Hogwarts and its professors – myself included – have failed a student along the way. Severus Snape is one such case.”

Hermione begrudgingly remained quiet, even with the numerous questions flitting through her mind. She sensed that Madam Pomfrey had much to say, and recognized that starting in with her questions now would only exasperate the witch. After being kept in the dark for so long, she was wont to do anything what would risk obtaining the answers she so desperately desired.

“I have cared for Severus since his first year here. Even then, he had undoubtedly seen more than any child his age had any right to see. There were obvious signs of neglect and abuse, both of which I brought up to Professor Dumbledore and then the head of Slytherin House, Professor Slughorn. During our discussions, Professor Slughorn appeared to share similar concerns, but as soon as I made mention of wanting to act further on them, his support vanished.

“At the time, I thought I was doing everything I could. I healed him of his many ailments on the first night of each school year, provided him with salves and potions for the most basic of injuries, and attempted to put some meat on his bones. At the beginning of each break, it was only I that stood by as he boarded the Hogwarts Express, and watched as he returned far worse than before. I know now that I should have done more. I should have taken initiative where Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn neglected to, but I did not. Though… I suppose it makes little difference now...”

Madam Pomfrey stared, unseeing, at a point just over Hermione’s shoulder, clearly lost in her memories. After a moment, she cleared her throat, returning to the present, and continuing, “Over the years, I have seen countless people take advantage of Severus’ vulnerabilities, time and time again. Severus Snape is every bit as vulnerable and eager for acceptance as you or I, perhaps even more so. He has, by necessity, found ways to hide such vulnerabilities from those with more… sinister intentions. Countless individuals have found any sort of leverage they could and used it to manipulate him.”

Hermione was able to clearly conjure up an image of a young Professor Snape struggling to adapt in a society that thrived off of likeness, the similarities that children found in one another at a young age and then bonded over. Most were able to navigate such a world with relative ease, but for others, like Snape and Hermione, it was a path filled with confusion and loneliness.

“During his time wandering these halls as a student, it was James Potter and his band of friends that abused him mercilessly. Then it became V-Vol-,” she sighed and took a moment to gather her wits, refusing to allow the monster to control her from the grave. “Then it became Voldemort. Finally, it was Albus Dumbledore. For years, Severus spied on Voldemort’s inner workings, relaying invaluable information to the Order, at much risk to himself. But still, the only time Albus cared to know how Severus was fairing was when he wished to know what information he had gathered.

“One night in particular, there had been a… gathering amongst Voldemort and his Death Eaters. When Severus returned, he was in the worst shape I had ever seen him in. I set to work, healing the most severe of his injuries when Albus strode in, demanded I heal his jaw so Severus could talk, but then wait to do anything else. Severus was in pain for hours while he told Dumbledore what he had learned. How his body had not shut down in order to preserve itself, I still don’t know. Afterward, the headmaster left without a word of thanks, or voicing a hope for a quick recovery. In fact, to my knowledge, the next time Dumbledore spoke with him was a week later, when Severus was lying in my Hospital Wing once again.”

“How often did these… gatherings occur?” Hermione could not prevent the question from slipping past her lips.

“At least once a week, but toward the end of the war, it became every few days.”

The young witch felt the bile rise in her throat, fearing the direction the story was taking. “And did Professor Snape always require medical attention after he returned?”

“In some manner or form, yes. While not all nights were as bad as the one I mentioned, there was generally always something that required my attention.”

“So, all of those scars…?” Hermione felt nauseous, a cold sweat breaking out along the back of her neck.

“Are the result of curses and physical attacks, yes. It is my understanding that Voldemort would often pit his followers against one another in duels to the death. If you did not have what it took to survive, you were too weak to serve him, and he would celebrate the fact that he no longer counted you amongst his ranks. He believed that surviving a physical attack made you stronger and more likely to withstand further torture in the future.”

Hermione remembered her very personal experience with just how much the Death Eaters enjoyed torturing and degrading their victims. For a moment, she was thrown back onto the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. She could see Bellatrix’s sadistic features laughing when Hermione screamed in pain, doing whatever she could to extract more while taking obvious pleasure in her victim’s helplessness.

Unable to silently relieve the traumatic experience that still haunted her, Hermione bent at the waist and grabbed the rubbish bin just moments before she retched.

Once the dry-heaving had ceased, Madam Pomfrey took the bin from Hermione’s shaking hands and set a small vial in its place.

“Drink,” she ordered softly, steadying Hermione’s hand as the distressed witch brought the potion to her lips.

Watching to be sure that she had downed the vial, the matron turned to the bookshelves, apparently searching for something. Hermione was too distracted to follow her movements, trying in vain to calm her racing pulse.

“Ginger tea,” Madam Pomfrey stated after a moment. A steaming cup floated her way. “For the nausea.”

Unable to keep her hand steady enough to grasp the handle, Hermione wrapped her hands around the base, greedily taking in the warmth the liquid offered.

“Drink,” the healer directed when Hermione hesitated.

Obediently, she took a tentative sip, and was surprised when it had an almost instantaneous reaction. The muscles in her stomach started to unclench and settle while the liquid relieved her of the dry throat and vile aftertaste. Hermione took slow, deep breaths as she continued to sip, waiting for the dizziness to abate.  

“So you see,” the healer continued after several moments, when Hermione was finally able to sit up fully “he has had a hard life, and I refuse to let anyone else hurt him. I care very deeply for Severus, as if he were my child. On the night you brought him here from the Shrieking Shack, well, I would have done anything to save him. I had feared, though, that you hadn’t performed the ritual for the right reasons.

“Reckless and uncharacteristic of my position, it may be, I admit that I had every intention of deceiving you from the start. I am not a fool, Miss Granger. I know that Severus has not been kind to you over the years. But he… I needed… I could see how distraught you were and I used that to my advantage, hoping that your penchant for saving those in need would shine through once more. And it did. But I was worried that if you knew how grim his story is, that you wouldn’t be swayed.

The picture isn’t pretty, Miss Granger.”

“You told me you would tell me if his life was in danger. This affects me too!”

“His life isn’t in danger,” Madam Pomfrey insisted. “I’m not so selfish that I would knowingly put your life in jeopardy.”

“Life? What life? The man is hardly living as it is, if what little I’ve seen is any indication!”

“I realize that now, which is one of the reasons why you and I are having this conversation.”

“ _One_ of the reasons?” Hermione’s brow furrowed as she took another sip of her tea, her stomach displeased from her outburst. She was growing increasingly more frustrated with the lack of answers she was receiving coupled with the influx of more questions.

“Yes.” Madam Pomfrey took a moment to gather her thoughts. “The night you summoned me to his chambers, you were asleep by the time I returned from my errands.”

Hermione blushed in embarrassment, knowing she had failed in her duty to keep watch over the professor, but Madam Pomfrey paid her no mind.

“While it’s true that I haven’t often frequented his chambers, I have never seen a fire going and I’ve certainly never seen him use anything but that dreadful sheet. I know that was you, Miss Granger,” she regarded Hermione carefully. “Since that night, I have reevaluated everything I thought I knew up to this point.”

“And what did you come up with?” Hermione straightened in her seat, hoping, finally, that the answers she was longing for were coming.

“For now, I will keep that to myself.”

Scowling, Hermione slumped back in her seat, not appreciating that she was being kept in the dark about something again. She settled for asking something different, hoping Madam Pomfrey would deign to answer at least one question succinctly. “What exactly happened that night?”

“An excellent question. While I’m still trying to discover the answer, myself, I will impart what I believe I have worked out.” The matron shifted slightly in her seat and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Whether or not he chooses to see it yet, I believe that that little black kitten you saw has chosen Severus. You know what that means, I take it?”

“A little,” Hermione admitted, feeling inept at being unable to properly answer the question. “I know that it’s not the same as the relationship between owner and pet which Muggles favor. I also know it isn’t as simple as someone picking out a random owl from Eeylops’ Owl Emporium.”

“Correct. Each witch and wizard has a distinctiveness to their magic; a fingerprint if you will, that is entirely unique to each individual, as do animals. A witch or wizard can only link to an animal and create a familiar bond, if their magicks are compatible. I might liken it to the wand choosing the wizard. Sometimes our magic does not work well in relation with other magical elements. It can be very much a trial-and-error process. Some people are fortunate enough to meet their familiar early on in life, while others never do. But once that bond has been formed, it can never be broken.”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite following.” Her brow furrowed as she worked through the potential implications and considered her relationship with Crookshanks. “You’re saying that that black cat has magic?”

“Everything has magic, Miss Granger,” the matron looked pointedly at Hermione’s tea, refusing to continue until she was satisfied when the young witch drank more, “it is simply a matter of whether or not that magic has been Awakened. Muggles have magic within them, but for whatever reason, their magic was never Awakened. It is unclear why the process never occurred, or what triggers an Awakening, but we do know that it is a subtle process that ceases once a child turns eleven years of age. Some academics believe that every person begins the Awakening process, but not everyone completes it, thus resulting in phenomena such as telepathy or prophesying. Your parents, for instance, do have magic within them - it is merely dormant.”

Hermione’s mind reeled. Never before had she heard any mention of this theory, and she relished the thought of being able to return to the library to conduct further research.

“Now, returning to the line of thought that the kitten is Severus’s familiar, I believe it says a lot that instead of seeking out myself or the headmistress, it chose you. Severus was in a very weak, very defenseless state and his familiar would’ve recognized that. He wouldn’t have chosen just _anyone_ to seek out for help.”

“I tried to find it,” Hermione admitted. “The kitten, I mean.”

“But you couldn’t find him,” Madam Pomfrey surmised. The young witch responded with a nod. “He is likely still in Severus’ chambers watching over him.”

Hermione tilted her head, replaying the healer’s words over in her mind. Something about the phrasing had not sat right with her, but it was a moment before she realized what it was. “Wait a minute, have you not seen Professor Snape since the night of the attack?”

“I have not. I’m sure you’ve noticed his absence at meals. It seems I have angered him, and now he’s taken to sulking in his rooms.”

“But he still needs medical attention!” Hermione cried, unable to bear thinking of what might have become of the Potions Master had the kitten not found her in time. Even now, if he was not receiving the proper care he needed…

“Indeed he does, but alas, Severus is as stubborn of a man as they come. He is, however, also a very gifted wizard.”

“You can’t get past his wards either? I’ve searched the library but can’t seem to find anything about the magic he’s using.” Hermione admitted without thinking, frustration coloring her voice. Her eyes widened and a blush promptly covered her cheeks when she realized she had revealed that not only had she attempted to gain entrance to the professor’s chambers, but that she had also researched ways to attempt to forcefully bypass them as well.

The matron raised a brow, and Hermione suspected she was stowing away this tidbit of information to mull over later. However, the witch only confirmed, “I cannot. Just as you have been deemed the brightest of your age, Severus was for his. In fact, he was one of the most gifted wizards to ever walk these halls, I daresay. While many come here to learn the basics of magic, for him it has always been innate, and he spent his time here honing what abilities he already had.”

Hermione snorted, “So much for brightest witch of my age if I can’t even get past some bloody wards.”

“You may have looked in the traditional places, but Severus has always had a preference for older, darker magic. Magic that you wouldn’t have even thought to consider.”

“If Professor Snape is so powerful that he can cast these wards, how was I able to see, much less enter, his chambers that night?”

“Another excellent question, Miss Granger, for which I believe the answer to be Hogwarts. Despite common thought, Hogwarts is far more than just a castle; it is very much a sentient being unto its own - with limits, of course. I believe that it, like the kitten, sensed Severus’ distress and recognized you as someone with the capabilities to help him.”

“But that hardly makes any sense. I’m not a healer.”

“A healer can only do so much, and it is my belief that the kind of healing Severus requires is beyond my means of giving.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I expect you to quite yet. But I find that I must ask: what are your thoughts regarding our resident Potions Master?”

“I’ve been thinking on that a lot, actually,” Hermione’s fingers fiddled with the rim of the mug she still held, the contents of which were now lukewarm.

Madam Pomfrey smiled, the first smile Hermione thought she had ever seen from the woman. “Of course you have, dear,” she mused knowingly, “and what course have those thoughts run?”

“I find myself... curious,” the young witch admitted slowly. “Perhaps it was the war, or maybe seeing the… attack, or maybe I’ve simply changed, but…” she looked up from playing with the mug, meeting the healer’s eyes. “He’s not all that he appears to be, is he?”

“Not at all, dear. He is much more than the rather one-dimensional façade he has maintained over the years.”

“But, why?”

“I believe,” Madam Pomfrey started slowly, gathering her thoughts, “that it is not dissimilar to a defense mechanism, or a coping strategy. But for now, that is all I will say. Instead, I would like to discuss whether or not you had considered pursuing a healer’s apprenticeship.”

Hermione blinked, trying to keep up with the rapid change of their conversation. “To be honest, I have yet to truly consider any apprenticeships.”

“But it is what you want, yes? After all, why else would you return to Hogwarts to take your N.E.W.T.s when you essentially already had a prestigious job waiting for you at the Ministry?”

Hermione cocked her head slightly as she absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and pondered Madam Pomfrey’s words. She was occasionally accosted by her professors, who demanded to know what her intentions were once she completed her education. Most notable in their efforts were Professors McGonagall and Babbling, who far too often could be found bickering over who would get the honor of continuing Hermione’s tutelage in their respective subjects, nevermind that Hermione had yet to actually offer an opinion one way or the other, for she knew that the war being waged outside the castle walls would have to be won first.

Healing, though… while it was true Hermione had never put much thought into pursuing a career as a Healer, all at once the possibility became entirely appealing.

“It’s true, I do want to further my education. I always have. Transfiguration seems to make the most sense, as I’ve always made top marks in it, but,” her nose crinkled, hesitant to admit what she knew would crush her Head of House, “I don’t believe I have a passion for it.” Despite the hesitance she felt while preparing to say it, once the statement was uttered, Hermione knew it to be true. While she enjoyed the subject, and certainly learning in general, pursuing an apprenticeship in Transfiguration would have been a mistake.

“If I may, I suggest you seriously consider healing. Not only do you have the necessary base skills, but you also possess something far more important.”

“Another applicant - one who has received formal training - would likely be far more qualified than me.”

“I’m afraid I disagree. We survived a war, child. Having watched Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley over the years, I’m fairly certain they weren’t the ones playing mediwitch while the three of you were on the run. Neither have the forethought or full capabilities for it. That aside, you’ve got a heart, Miss Granger. Most come into this field for the glory of saving another’s life, or because they feel they’re good at it, but that is simply not enough. You must have heart and truly care about your charges.”

Hermione tilted her head slightly as she thought about every time she had been a resident of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey never uttered so much as a chuckle at her expense when she had accidently turned herself into a cat, and for every hairball she had thrown up, the matron had soothed her and allowed her tears to run themselves dry. Every ache and cut was tended to meticulously and the matron was eternally patient.

“Many would have left Severus for dead that night in the Shrieking Shack, and a great many more wouldn’t have taken the time to consider lighting a fire in those cold, dank chambers of his, much less transfigure that ratty sheet into something more suited to keeping him warm and comfortable. I have no doubt that with your N.E.W.T. scores, you’ll be more than qualified. ‘Outstanding’ or ‘Exceeds Expectations’ marks are required in Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Herbology. Unless you think you have reason to be worried?” The matron raised a brow and Hermione blushed, knowing she was being teased, before she shook her head.

“As I thought. Now, as I’ve already given you much to think about, I’ll let you retire to your dormitory for further consideration of my offer. I’ll be expecting an answer in two weeks’ time in order to get you acclimated within the field, and in the Hospital Wing prior to the students returning.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” she lifted the mug in reference to her earlier incident and placed it on the desk. Hermione paused by the door, a question on the tip of her tongue.

“Out with it, child.”

“I was wondering if I might ask what, exactly, the professor was going through that night? And why it took twice the normal dosage of Calming Draught for him to settle?”

“I’m afraid that would breach my oath of patient confidentiality. However,” Madam Pomfrey trailed off momentarily, “if I were talking to a prospective healer... and in the midst of her apprenticeship she were to ask me about hypothetical scenarios regarding healing techniques and implications... then yes, I could answer.”

“I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

“Good night, Miss Granger.”


End file.
